


Leave the Lights On (When You Stay)

by franks_hands



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gangs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor character suicide, criminals, mention of suicide, mentions of abuse, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franks_hands/pseuds/franks_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Initiation was sort of freeing in a way, though Frank hadn’t realized it at the time. For the first time in his life, as bruises formed and ribs ached and lips bled, Frank felt that he had power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave the Lights On (When You Stay)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have never been in a gang. I don't know exactly what it's like to be in a gang. I'm just a smol mcr fan writing fan fiction on the web. 
> 
> Also make sure to look at the tags for warnings before reading!

Initiation was sort of freeing in a way, though Frank hadn’t realized it at the time.

As far back into his childhood as Frank could remember, he was always being beat on by the bigger people. His father, namely, though there were also the bullies in school. He was never really prepared for it, no matter how many times he’d walked into the livingroom to find his father looming around the corner, a beer in one hand and the other clenched in a tight, telling fist.

Initiation was different, despite how it may have looked. The difference was all in the way it came about. Frank hadn’t pissed his dad off, he hadn’t come home to find him drunk, he hadn’t been pulled out back by the school’s dumpsters during recess. This time, he’d asked for it. Maybe not explicitly, and not exactly because he wanted to get the shit beat out of him for ten seconds straight, but in a roundabout way, he’d actually asked for this to happen to him.

He knew what was coming before the first dirty shoe connected with his ribcage. He knew it was going to happen and he had the power to stop it from happening in the first place. With his dad, with those bullies, it was never his choice. Their violent treatment of him was without his warrant.

But as the older kids circled around him now, it was on Frank’s own accord. He’d been asked-- _asked_ \--if he wanted this to happen, and he’d given them permission, the go-ahead so that they could commence beating him to a pulp for a full ten seconds, as he laid limp on the dirty pavement.

For the first time in his life, as bruises formed and ribs ached and lips bled, Frank felt that he had power.

Gerard Way was more angry than surprised when he ventured up to Dewees’s bedroom door only to soil his new shoes in the fallen gang leader’s blood. “You mean he _told you_ and you didn’t do anything about it?” Half an hour later, the house mostly cleared of those who weren’t high ranks, he was yelling at a group of four large men, piled pitifully on one sofa.

“What were we supposed to do? He locked himself in his room.” One of them defended, his voice sounding heavy and vaguely slurred, almost like he’d recently been hit in the head. He was in one of the early stages of drunkenness, which undoubtedly fueled Gerard’s anger.

“Break down the goddamn door! You’re his fucking bodyguards. I know none of you are particularly bright but you could have at least managed that!” He was fuming, pacing back and forth, combing a violent, pale hand through his black hair, straightening his suit with one sharp tug. Frank felt bad for the four fuckers. If there was anyone you didn’t want to piss off in the gang, it was Gerard. Sure, Dewees had always held the most power, but Gerard had a growing record of impulse-killing.

Another of the bodyguards spoke up, and this one, fortunately, was not quite as tipsy. “And stop him? Yeah, right. He would’ve had us killed and then he would’ve went right through with it anyway. Would’ve made no difference, really.” Despite being sober, he had this sheepish way of speaking, like he knew arguing was futile.

“Don’t see why you’re complainin’ anyway,” the drunk one chimed in once again, “Seeing as you’re the new high-and-mighty. I mean, Jesus, we’ve worked this place for ten years and who gets it when he’s gone? You do.”

Frank noticed the way Gerard’s fingers twitch in the direction of his belt. But, for once, he wasn’t carrying a gun, so his fingers curled into a fist and he shook his head fiercely, turning on his heels to stride into the other room, where Frank followed him.

Ray and Mikey were in the kitchen, huddled over the counter where there was a piece of paper that Gerard quickly snatched.

“Sorry,” Ray muttered, but Mikey just rolled his eyes at his brother.

“Can’t you two make yourselves useful elsewhere? Go help Bob with the body or something. Get the bloodstains out of James’s room. Something.” Gerard set the letter back down on the counter behind him, watching as Ray and his brother exited the kitchen.

Frank felt like a child. He wasn’t afraid of a lot of things anymore, but he was afraid of Gerard. “Do you want me to go, too?”

Gerard sighed, visibly calming himself as air expelled from his lungs. “No, Frank. I have to talk to you.”

The kitchen was silent for a moment. Frank could hear the bodyguards in the other room talking and maybe Kristin and Christa as well.

Turning around to face the letter on the counter, Gerard motioned vaguely toward the piece of crumpled paper. Frank managed to read the first couple of sentences before Gerard started talking again.

_For the eyes of Gerard Way only: I’m leaving you my house, my guards, my cash, and my duties as gang leader. Sorry, dude._

Gerard put his hand over the words lightly. “He wants--He wanted you to take over my guys and my streets.”

Frank frowned. “Oh. What about mine?”

“He said you’re qualified to handle both areas.” Gerard explained, skimming the words quickly for almost the tenth time. “I agree with him. You’ve been around long enough. Ten years.”

“Alright.” Frank swallowed, his throat feeling tight, like his father was holding him around the neck. “Should I address you as Way from now on?”

“No. I’m still Gerard.” The words came out in nearly a whisper, and Frank thought it was probably because that wasn’t how things were supposed to be. You don’t call your leaders by their first name; that’s disrespectful. Gerard didn’t seem to care. “Please just keep calling me Gerard.”

Frank was glad for that. He couldn’t bear the thought of Gerard becoming this unfriendly, all-business leader figure. He liked Gerard. He was friends with Gerard. He felt things for Gerard that he liked to pretend no one else knew about, and that all would have felt so much worse if Gerard had shut down every non-business aspect of their relationship right then and there. But Gerard was still Gerard. Frank knew he could handle that for at least another three years.

Gerard cleared his throat after a moment or two of silence. “Well.” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his tired face before withdrawing a cigarette from his pants pocket, “What a way to spend your tenth anniversary, right?”

The first mission held under Gerard’s command was a risky one. Dewees had the whole thing planned out prior to his death, but due to the fact that the gang was now down one important man, Gerard had to reconstruct the whole thing, shifting his responsibilities to others as he took on Dewees’s responsibilities.

It was a heist--a nice-looking diamond being transported from one museum to another in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. The risk involved was that the precious jewel would pass right through enemy territory on its journey. The museum itself was only a few blocks down from the border of Demonios territory. Gerard knew that if Bert and his men had caught word of the transportation of such a precious gem, they would surely intrude on the gang’s mission.

But Gerard liked to think he was prepared for that, with only his best, most experienced men on the job, with only the expendable, low-ranking members assigned to the most dangerous checkpoints. Following James’s plan gave the high-ranking members a little cushion of safety. Los Demonios members would get to the low-ranks first, giving the rest of them time to execute their mission unbothered by enemy gang members. The low-rank position was a bad one to be in but it was necessary, a fair trail gang members had to pass through in order to work their way up to a high-ranking position. Most never made it to a higher position.

On this particular mission, the gang lost three low-ranking members, all of them young and new to the scene. On this particular mission, the gang also lost the life of Ray Toro.

Ray Toro was a shocking character to most who met him through the gang systems. He didn’t seem to have a violent bone in his body and even his words were often soft and polite.

He’d been around during the conception of the gang, at the juvenile age of twelve. It was his older brother, a twenty-one-year-old raising a child on his own, who had founded the gang along with thirty-three-year-old friend, Kurt Dewees, who had a son of his own, a couple years older than Ray. The two founded the gang as a pact of brotherhood, a promise to protect each other from prominent violent gangs in the streets of their hometown. Things were never meant to be how they ended up. Ray’s brother was never meant to go out in a vengeful assassination and Kurt was never meant to take his own life after realizing what he’d started. He’d started a gang, just as violent and gruesome as those he detested. In an attempt to protect his loved ones from the terror of gang life, he’d thrust them right into it.

Ray’s part in gang life hadn’t been by his own choice, but by his brother’s. He hadn’t joined for the money or for the promise of physical security or even for the promise of a family, like most of the others had. Ray Toro was always there, always participating and running missions and collecting his money, because he had to. Because this was the life he was handed.

James and Gerard had always known how much Ray hated their occupation, despite that went along with it. It was because of this that Ray was passed over for leadership position in James’s will. It was for this reason that Gerard was in charge now, not Ray, who had been there from the beginning, who was still just a pawn in the gang’s plans.

Ray was running away when he died. He’d done his part in the mission, he’d cleared the street of Diablos members before he turned his back and took off in a sprint.

But he hadn’t done a very good job.

The sudden gunshots heard behind him were telling signs that he hadn’t been thorough enough, hadn’t checked between every two buildings. But he’d already left his gun behind, already left gang life behind, when he realized, falling to the pavement, that there was no other life left for him. He went out in a puddle of his own warm, red fluid, just as his old friend James had, two weeks prior.

After an unsuccessful mission, the gang met once again in Gerard’s new home, the place still strung with decorations meant for Frank’s ten year celebration. The gang members met, high- and low-ranks, and there was a discussion about James’s passing, about Gerard’s new leadership position, about arrangements for Ray’s funeral, which a few low-ranking members were to sort out.

The air that night was somber, there was a lot less chatter among the low-ranks than usual and even less speaking among the high-ranks, who except for Gerard remained silent and seated in the background for the entirety of the session.

Many of the gang members were shaken up by Ray’s death; they all knew Ray, they all liked Ray. He was one of the only guys you could find in the gang that wasn’t a fucked up angry mess half of the time.

Christa had disappeared. Gerard wasn’t sure how she’d found out about her husband’s death before the meeting, but somehow she had and she’d probably used the opportunity to escape gang life. Gerard knew that it would’ve made Ray happy to know his wife had been able to escape the life he’d dragged her into, even if he had to die for it to happen.

Gerard closed the meeting after assigning funeral duties to a few low-ranks, who usually would have probably complained about the inconvenience but were shockingly silent in receiving their duties. As the gang members began to file out of the large house, Gerard turned to look at Frank, who was still seated behind him next to Mikey, watching the low-ranks leave.

“Frank? Will you stay for an hour? I need to talk to you again about your position in the gang.”  Gerard sounded formal, like they were in an office setting instead of in the gang leader’s livingroom. Frank felt unnecessarily nervous. Had he not been doing his job sufficiently? Had Gerard decided Frank wasn’t cut out to handle the extra responsibilities? Frank occupied the time it took for Mikey, Bryar, and Brian to leave worrying about what he could have possibly done wrong.

Once they were the only two left in the large living room, Gerard looked toward Frank and nodded his head in the direction of the spiraled staircase. “Join me in the bedroom?” Was all he said before, without waiting for a reply, he turned and made his way to the bedroom, where Dewees had been found less than a month ago.

Upstairs in the bedroom, Frank found Gerard pouring a glass of red wine on a dresser close to the door. Frank stared. He hadn’t seen Gerard handle alcohol in months. But now he was doing it so calmly, smoothly, his expression almost serene as the liquid flowed from one glass container to another. Gerard offered Frank the glass once it had been filled, and set the bottle down on the dresser carefully.

“I didn’t realize how much Dewees drank until I looked through his room.” Gerard muttered as Frank took his first sip. Their eyes wandered around the room. Gerard had seen everything by now--he’d already spent hours in there, staring at the remnants of his leader and friend’s life. Frank had never been invited into this room.

“I suppose a lot of it was for when he had guests over. He had a lot of guests.” Gerard speculated. Frank nodded idly, staring at the red liquid in his glass. It was close to the color of Dewee’s blood, which could be seen faintly staining the carpet. Gerard had yet to get new carpeting for the bedroom. Frank wished he would do it soon.

“It makes me think, though.” Gerard continued, staring at the bottle of wine left on the dresser. “It makes me wonder if he really had this thing planned out in advance. His death, I mean. Don’t you think he would have had the bottles removed if he knew I’d be taking over here soon?” Gerard finally looked directly at Frank, and Frank just stared back for a few moments, not sure if the question was meant to be rhetorical.

After seconds of silence, Gerard went on, “He was so adamant about me not drinking anymore. In hindsight maybe he did have it planned out--months and months ago--and maybe he was preparing me for taking over. I couldn’t very well lead a gang if I were still constantly inebriated.” He chuckled, but he looked serious and emotionless, “Maybe it was meant to be a test of my self control, leaving all this alcohol in the bedroom.”

Frank finally found his voice, “If it is a test, you’ve passed. You haven’t--I mean, you haven’t taken a drink yet, have you?”

Gerard shook his head, looking at the bottle again, “No.”

A few more seconds of silence dragged on. Frank felt uncomfortable. “Do you want me to take them--”

“No.” Gerard repeated, “I can get rid of them. I’ll do it after you leave. But anyway, we should get down to business.” His gaze once again returned to Frank’s, the wine bottle temporarily forgotten about.

Gerard opened with the statement, “I really need you, Frankie.” He paused to clear his throat, “I… You helped me a lot. So much, when I was drinking.” Frank had forgotten about the wine glass in his hand and it sat there, still as the two men never broke eye contact. “If I’m gonna continue to be gang leader, you’re gonna need to stick by me. You have to promise to help me handle all of this--this shit. With Ray dying and all his guys left without a boss and all this shit I have to figure out in order to just lead. You have to keep me sane, Frankie.”

Frank could feel every beat of his heart. He was nervous again.

“So I’ve… decided that I’m gonna give you a promotion.” Gerard said, “Another promotion, I guess. I want you to be my… right-hand man. The guys aren’t gonna report to you anymore. We’ll distribute them--and Ray’s--to the other bosses, so that they each gain a few. From now on I just want you to be here to help me figure shit out, Frankie, okay?”

Their eye contact remained in tact and Frankie’s heart hadn’t slowed yet but he nodded slowly, “Okay, G.”

Gerard nodded as well, as if that would finalize Frank’s promotion. He watched Frank take another sip of the wine. “After that last mission I wasn’t really sure that I could do this. But I think if you’re helping me it’ll all work out. Dewees was right about you being a really fucking strong member of the gang.”

Frank looked up from his glass after taking another sip to Gerard, only his eyes landed on Gerard’s lips, which were naturally in a slight pout, round and totally kissable. Frank knew they were kissable because he’d kissed them before. It had been a while since then.

And then that was all Frank could think about. The memories of kissing Gerard in alleyways during missions, kissing him in his apartment after gang meetings, kissing him for that very first time in the basement of Dewee’s old house. Maybe even kissing him now, in Dewee’s bedroom, because now it was actually Gerard’s bedroom and Dewees wasn’t around to stop them anymore.

Gerard had just told Frank he needed him. And suddenly, Frank remembered how much he really needed Gerard. And suddenly, Frank was drawing up on his tip toes in order to plant his lips on Gerard’s lips for the first time since he was seventeen.

The kiss was awkward because Frank had his hands around a wine glass and he’d spill it if he tried to hold Gerard or pull him closer. Gerard could have touched Frank, but his hands stayed limp at his sides, even as he moved his lips along with Frank’s, melting into the pattern of the kiss.

But then, Gerard did touch Frank, and it wasn’t what Frank expected. He was shoved back a step or two, the wine sloshing around in the glass and dripping a bit on the carpet, next to a spot where you could see Dewees’ blood.

“What do you think you’re doing, Frank?” Gerard’s voice was flat and angry, and he was reaching for the wine bottle. Frank could swear that for a moment he saw Gerard considering hitting him with it, but then it just stayed at his side, the neck grasped tight in a fist.

Frank couldn’t think fast enough.

“You think you’re gonna get in on all of this, huh?” Gerard seemed to be getting angrier by the second. As he gestured around to the luxurious bedroom, the liquid in the bottle sloshed against the sides.

“What? G, no--that wasn’t--”

“Don’t fucking call me G.” Gerard spat, “You haven’t made a move on me in three fucking years. Three fucking years, Frankie. But now that I’ve got it all, you think you can--”

“I was kissing you because I thought we could do this now.” Frank’s own voice was rising in volume, getting worked up over Gerard’s anger.

“We _can’t_ do this.” Gerard’s voice was high and forceful, hitting Frank like a bullet. “Do you not remember anything Dewees told us?”

Frank pouted, “Things were so different back then. I was a kid. I’m catching up to you now.”

Gerard scoffed, “That’s not how age works, Frankie.”

“It’s how maturity works.”

“You think now that you’re not twelve and you don’t tear up when you brain a guy, you can be with me?” He was tearing Frank apart.

His wine glass set down and forgotten on the counter, Frank’s fists grew tighter and tighter at his sides. He wanted to punch Gerard for being so stubborn, so stupid, for not letting Frank have what he’d wanted for years. What Frank knew Gerard wanted just as much as he did. His voice broke out into a full yell and he was glad that the rest of the gang had gone home, “I think now that you’re gang leader, there’s no one with the authority to stop us!”

“Now that I’m gang leader? Frankie, do you know why James never got married? It wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He was busy leading and protecting a group of a hundred criminals.”

“Things were different for James! He couldn’t marry someone inside of the gang. He would’ve had to compromise--” But before Frank could finish his sentence, Gerard was slapping him in the face with his free hand.

“First of all, I never want to hear you call him by his first name again. Have some respect for the fallen, Frank. Second…” He scoffed, shaking his head and grabbing Frank’s abandoned wine glass, draining the remaining liquid down his throat, “You’re living in a dangerous fantasy world if you think we’re getting married.”

Frank felt embarrassment wash over him. He wanted to disappear. He watched Gerard saunter over to the bed, collapse back onto it, the bottle of wine still clasped in his fist, hanging down beside the bed.

“That’s not what I meant.” Frank huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting at Gerard, who was staring at the ceiling with a blank face. “I just meant that--”

“Go away, Frank. I’ll see you at the next gang meeting.” His voice was lazy. He threw a forearm over his eyes.

Frank teetered in the doorway for almost a minute. Before exiting the room, he strode over to the side of the bed and snatched the bottle of wine from Gerard’s grip, throwing it with all of his strength against a full-length mirror, both glass objects shattering upon contact. The red liquid seeped across the carpet quickly as Frank left. Gerard didn’t move an inch.

The first time Frank could remember seeing Gerard in a suit, they were at a gang member’s funeral. She’d been one of the high-ranks, fallen in a mission when she was struck by a stray bullet from the gun of a fellow gang member. No one was quite sure whose bullet it was--it could have been a number of people. Dewees, Bryar, Gerard, and one of the low-ranks were among the suspects. But it didn’t matter. It had been an accident. The gang leaders decided not to look further into the situation. It would have only caused trouble.

Gerard seemed torn up about it, even though there was a large possibility that it wasn’t his bullet that killed Lindsey. He’d been close to Lindsey. The two had been getting to know each other in the year after Gerard stopped seeing Frank.

It was bittersweet for Frank--he hadn’t wanted Lindsey dead, of course, but he sort of hadn’t wanted her around. He was jealous of her. He hated to see her spend all of her time with Gerard. He hated that Gerard didn’t push her away like he sometimes did with Frank. Lindsey was Gerard’s age, he was once reminded in a whisper by Ray. “You shouldn’t get torn up about it. It’s nothing personal, Frankie. You’re just too young.”

Frank had pouted at him, reinforcing Toro’s argument without trying to. “I’m an adult now.”

Ray patted him on the back and reminded him, “Just because you can buy your own cigarettes now doesn’t mean you’ve reached maturity.”

The night before the funeral there had been a gang meeting at Dewee’s place and Gerard had asked Frank, in a whisper just outside of the front doors, if he’d mind coming over to Gerard’s house. Frank went.

This selfish part of him hoped this meant Gerard wanted him again. He hoped they’d get to Gerard’s house and that they wouldn’t even get to the bedroom before they were undressed. He hoped it would be like it had been before Dewees stepped in and told them to knock it off.

But nothing like that happened that night. Gerard did bring Frank into his bedroom and invite him down on to the bed, but it was just so that he could sob into his shoulder and talk about all the things he wished he’d said to Lindsey before she died. He wished he’d told her he loved her, he wished he’d had the guts to ask her out on a proper date. He really, really wished he’d told her he loved her. That one stuck in Frank’s mind. He couldn’t stop hearing Gerard’s voice, repeating that phrase over and over again in his mind even after Gerard fell asleep resting on his chest.

The next morning found them both in a church, surrounded by Lindsey’s family and friends. She’d been one of the few high-ranks that maintained healthy relationships with people outside of the gang.

The Gerard that Frank saw at the funeral was different from the one that had cried on his shoulder the night before. He was stone-cold. He didn’t have those same emotions plastered on his face. He looked closed off, even as he passed by Lindsey’s casket. He didn’t look at Frank once during the service, even though he’d asked if he could sit right beside him in the pews.

As the service let out, Gerard nudged Frank, signaled with his head over his shoulder toward a bathroom.

Frank waited a moment while Gerard disappeared into the bathroom, looking around to make sure no one from the gang would see him. He didn’t want to get scolded again, almost a year after everyone had thought the foolish relationship was over.

When Frank entered the bathroom, Gerard pulled him against a wall and kissed him. Frank had a fleeting thought about kissing in a bathroom, about how it was sort of gross, but Gerard didn’t let him dwell on that too much, pulling back from the kiss but still holding close and whispering, “You kept fucking checking me out, asshole.”

Frank felt a rush of something he hadn’t felt since the last time he and Gerard were together like this, “You look good in a suit, what can I say?”

Gerard sighed long and heavy. He had his fists grasped around the fabric of Frank’s black dress shirt. “You fucking kill me, Frank, y’know?” Frank didn’t reply, just stared at Gerard, partially guarded, not sure where this was going. There were people right outside and they could be walked in on at any moment. Gerard just looked hard at Frank for a while, though, kind of making him squirm with the anxiety that they’d be caught. Gerard seemed to like that thought.

“Dewees was right about this being dangerous.” He whispered, almost looking sad for a moment, though not as intensely as he had the night before. “All it is is trouble.”

Frank blinked. This was a large shift from the kiss that had happened moments ago. “Do you want me to stay away from you?” He tried not to sound disappointed.

Gerard laughed at him, though, low and soft. “No. That’s the last thing I want.” The taller man leaned down for another kiss, a lot slower this time. Where the first kiss was rushed, desperate, dirty, this one was careful, delicate, deliberate. Frank barely had time to take it in when Gerard was pulling back out again.

“It’s probably safest, though.” Now, Gerard did sound sad. “Probably what’s best for everyone.”

The gang was at a casino now, scattered throughout the building. Gerard was in a suit again. Frank was with him in the front room of the business, dressed just as nicely as Gerard this time.

Mikey was in the back working his charismatic magic on one of the casino’s owners. That’s what Gerard liked to call it, anyway. Frank prefer something a bit closer to the truth: Mikey was in the back trying to get into the owner’s pants in order to get her out of the way of Bryar, Brian, and their men, who were doing the heavy lifting of the mission. It seemed risky to Frank, but Gerard had the building surrounded and he wasn’t afraid to take the entire fucking place hostage if something went wrong. If Mikey’s charisma failed or if the casino’s guards gave the gang a run for their money. Neither was very likely to happen.

When Gerard got the message in his earpiece, he nodded at Frank subtly. Frank wasn’t wearing an earpiece because two months prior he’d shaved his hair short. It had been the night after Gerard gave him his promotion. The next time Gerard saw him, he made a biting remark, “A little rejection and you feel the need to rebel like a fucking teenage punk? You’re even less mature than I thought.” Despite the initial cold remark, Gerard hadn’t continued to treat him so poorly. They’d stuck close together on the following missions, by Gerard’s order.

None of those missions had been as big as this one, though. At Gerard’s nod, Frank stood from his seat, throwing some bills onto the bar, swigging the last of his drink. He exited the casino as casually as he could, hailing a taxi on the street outside. When the few dark figures lingering in the shadows saw him, Frank could see them withdraw from their positions.

On the way to a bar across town, Frank kept thinking about how if everything had gone well back at the casino, this would be the gang’s biggest hit yet. It would be the perfect mission to console the doubt Gerard had in himself as a leader after Ray’s death.

Gerard entered the bar approximately twenty minutes after Frank sat down. Frank felt a gentle hand press against the small of his back, “The eagle has landed.”

Frank suppressed a giggle at Gerard’s dorky confirmation of their success. He turned to see a beaming face looking down at him, ink-black hair hanging messy around a pale canvas that was Gerard’s face. There was color in his cheeks, for the first time in a while. Frank forgot about his drink as the two took another taxi to Gerard’s home. There, they met with Bob, Brian, Mikey, and the rest of the high-ranks. Gerard provided his guests with a few drinks before they all set off into the night. Mikey was the last to leave, hugging Gerard and telling him “Fuck you, man,” sweetly before going into a short rant about how the gang leader had to stop assigning him to seduce people--he had a girlfriend now. The brothers hugged once more before Mikey took off, leaving Frank and Gerard alone in the parlor.

Frank sipped on the last of his wine. “I should be going.” He muttered, setting his glass down on a table.

But Gerard reached a hand out to grasp his wrist. “I was thinking you could stay.” He smiled, and it was almost innocent. Frank would have fallen for the feigned innocence if he hadn’t seen that same look on Gerard before, years ago.

“I was thinking we could celebrate a little.” Gerard’s voice was sweet.

Frank smiled, too, but he kept himself in check. He didn’t want to get into this too excitedly only to be rejected again. “And what was it that we just did? Wasn’t that a celebration?” He felt a little tipsy, like maybe he was starting to sway from side to side hazily.

“I had something a little different in mind.” Gerard was really close, then, all up in Frank’s face, and Frank was starting to lose any shred of restraint he once held. The closer Gerard got to kissing him, the less he cared about possible rejection.

And when Gerard finally did initiate the kiss, for the first time in two years, Frank knew for a fact that he didn’t care about any of the consequences. He’d take them as they came. Right now, all he wanted--all he needed--was this kiss, was Gerard, was that bed on the other side of the house.

Before Gerard fell asleep that night, he whispered into Frank’s ear, “I’ve changed my mind, Frankie. I think we can do this. After all…” His arms wrapped around Frank’s warm body, “I make the rules, now.”

When Frank heard his cell phone ring from inside the shower, he’d been expecting a call from Gerard to update him on the gang’s latest big mission, which he’d been ordered to sit out.

It wasn’t like Frank was dying or anything. He’d been sick before and he’d get sick again after this--it was nothing new, by any means. It was just a little cold. Maybe the flu. Regardless of what it was, however, Gerard wasn’t having it anywhere near him or near the other gang members. So, Frank had been put in quarantine.

At first, Frank couldn’t stand it--being cut off from the action, having to wait for a fucking phone call to know if anyone had died or if the gang had struck big or if they’d had a run-in with the cops again.

But after the first couple of days, Frank started to enjoy the freedom. It was nice to be able to relax, to laze around all day, to put his guard down, to take a long, hot shower, to let his mind wander to things that weren’t directly related to stealing and killing.

Frank hopped out of the shower at the sound of his cell phone, standing across the apartment bathroom, dripping wet, “Hey G, I was just thinking about you.” His voice was light. He felt so light. A few days away from gang action had done him some good. But he missed Gerard.

Gerard’s tone was the polar opposite of Frank’s. “Mandatory meeting at the house. Sorry. I know you don’t feel well and I want you to rest, but this is--ugh. Can you make it?”

“Uh. Yeah, G. Did something happen?” Frank reached for a towel, absentmindedly patting himself dry even though he still had shampoo suds in his hair.

“It’s--Mikey. He’s in the hospital. He… he got hurt, Frankie.” Gerard’s voice broke. He sounded like a kid. Frank felt his chest tighten.

“What happened?”

“He--it’s my fault. And I should’ve listened to him. He wanted backup but I thought he could do it alone. I… God, it was stupid.” Frank thought he could hear Gerard crying, or trying not to.

“How--how bad is he?” Frank asked, toweling off his hair and trying to pull on his pants at the same time.

“He’ll live.” The words were shaky. “He’ll probably never forgive me but he’ll be okay.”

When Frank arrived at the house, he let himself into the parlor to find Gerard at a window seat, staring through the glass to the trees outside.

“Where is everyone?”

Gerard only seemed to notice Frank once he spoke, abruptly turning his head to look at him, “Oh. I called it off. We’ll have a meeting later. I wanted to talk to you.”

Frank chuckled and then felt bad about it. Gerard’s brother, his closest friend since childhood, had been hospitalized. “Am I getting another promotion?”

His attempt at weak humor fell flat on Gerard, who just shook his head seriously, “No.” He paused. “Well. Maybe. But not right now.”

Frank waited for an explanation.

“I want to leave the gang.” Gerard’s words sounded strange, sort of forced and as if they’d been rehearsed, repeated over and over again in his mind. It took a moment for Frank to process them.

Frank couldn’t keep a shocked scoff from escaping his lungs. “You want to leave the gang?” He asked, as if he hadn’t quite heard Gerard correctly. He hoped he hadn’t.

But Gerard nodded. “I can’t do it anymore.” He turned back to the window. Frank stared at his silhouette, a dark figure surrounded by the light from a lamp outside. “It’s only been a few months since… And. I don’t want to end up doing the same.”

A haunting image of Dewees’ death flashed across Frank’s mind, but this time it was Gerard’s body lying there, face down, in a pool of red. He clenched his fists at his sides.

“So step down. You don’t need to leave.” He sounded angry. He wasn’t sure if he really was. He was caught off-guard, mostly. Hearing those words from Gerard had been the last thing he expected. When Gerard just shook his head minutely, continued staring into the dim outdoors, Frank spoke again, “You know you can’t leave, right? You can’t. That’s not how this shit works, Gerard. The gang isn’t some fucking come and go as you please type deal. It’s for life. The only way you’re getting out is…” but that was too horrible for Frank to think about again, “You’re not getting out.”

Gerard sighed, long and deep. “I’m gonna find a way.”

Frank stepped closer to Gerard’s seat in the window. He wracked his mind for the words that would shake this dumb idea out of Gerard’s thick skull. “You know we can’t let you _quit_ and then leave you alone, Gerard. You fucking know that.”

“I’m not just gonna quit. I’m leaving. Jersey.” The words were quieter because Gerard was facing away from Frank, but they still hit him in the gut like a solid punch.

“You’re leaving Jersey.” Frank couldn’t keep the astonishment from his voice.

“Yeah.” Gerard whispered, barely audible. Frank may have imagined the sound.

Frank stared for a while, just looking at Gerard’s outline, taking it all in, trying to decide what the hell Gerard was thinking. He shook his head to himself, muttered something about Gerard having his head up his ass, and then Gerard felt his head knocked two times, once when Frank’s fist connected with it and then when it connected with the window frame.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Gerard. You’re not leaving.” Frank sounded bitter and thick, like he’d tasted something repulsive.

Gerard wanted to be angry at Frank for the punch, but when he turned around to look back at Frank, cradling the side of his head in his hand, he noticed the light outside being reflected in the water pooling between Frank’s eyelids. He wanted to cry, too.

“I’ve lost all of my friends to this gang. I let Mikey get hurt. I saw Ray get shot down from down the street. I walked upstairs into Dewees’ room to find him facedown on the carpet with a bullet hole in his head. I was probably the one that shot the girl I wanted to marry. I’m not gonna stick around to watch something terrible happen to you. I’m not gonna stay here until you inevitably are gunned down or taken to jail or injured or whatever.”

Frank was infuriated. He wanted to punch Gerard again, or maybe slap him this time, but he couldn’t really see straight through the angry, bitter tears that were welling up in his eyes. “So you’re deciding to leave and never see me again. Just so that, on the off chance that something happens to me, you don’t have to be around to witness it.”

Gerard was silent for a moment, and that was the confirmation that Frank needed.

“You could come with me.” Gerard’s voice was small and timid. He drew all his limbs in toward his center, wrapping his arms around his knees. Frank wiped an angry hand across his eyes to clear them up.

“You’re fucking crazy, Gerard. You leave the gang, and they come after you. And then that’s it. You’re over. You can’t leave the gang. _We_ can’t leave the gang.”

It was a long time before anyone spoke again. Frank could feel his fingers trembling just slightly, so he clenched them into fists again. He wanted to grab Gerard’s shirt, to ball it up in his fists and throw Gerard on the ground and kick some sense into him. He wanted to kiss Gerard in that rough and bruising way Gerard used to do back when Frank was a teenager, after they fought about something stupid.

But instead of doing any of those violent things he wanted to do, Frank just stood there, trying not to sway from side to side, feeling drunk with anger. Gerard had his chin rested on his knees. He looked smaller and more helpless than the night before Lindsey’s wedding, when he’d invited Frank over and cried on his chest.

“It won’t be until Mikey’s out of the hospital. A few weeks, probably. I’ve made up my mind, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

Frank couldn’t stand to be there anymore, didn’t want to hear another word from Gerard’s lips unless it was something that made some actual sense. He spun around and started his way to the front doors.

“Frank--” Gerard called. Frank stopped but didn’t turn around, hand on the door. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow. Um. Don’t say anything about it to the others. I love you.”

It was the first time Gerard had said those three words to Frank. The sound of them made Frank’s gut twist into knots. He couldn’t even remember what else Gerard had said--those three small words had wiped his mind clean for a few seconds. He made a low sound of annoyance and swung the door open roughly.

“He waits ‘til now to finally fucking say it. Motherfucker.” Frank mumbled to himself all the way to his car.

Frank showed up the next morning at the house, having gotten a text from Gerard about the gang meeting regarding the latest mission and Mikey’s hospitalization. Gerard had called the meeting off again, it turned out, informing everyone but Frank.

Frank had tried to be angry with Gerard when he pulled up at the house to find none of the other gang members there. But then he was in the door and Gerard had him up against the wall, kissing him, in that bruising way, running out of breath, and he didn’t really have the chance to be mad, even as Gerard asked if he wanted to go upstairs, even as the two drifted to sleep an hour later in Gerard’s bed.

In the back of his mind, Frank knew he should be mad at Gerard, for promising to leave him, for being so stupid as to think he actually could without getting a bullet in his brain. But Frank validated his lack of anger by telling himself that, surely, Gerard would get over those misguided thoughts of leaving. It had just been a heat of the moment thing, probably. He’d watched his brother whisked away in an ambulance, he felt responsible, he was distraught. After a week passed and he gained some distance from the situation, he’d realize how foolish he’d been to think he could just up and leave the gang without any consequences.

That’s what Frank hoped would happen.

Three and a half weeks later, Mikey was released from the hospital. Gerard held a small dinner at the house that night, only for the high-ranks. He’d poured himself a glass of wine before making a short speech about how glad he was that his brother was back on his feet. His words seemed awkward and a bit jumbled and Frank thought he was the only one to notice before he glanced at Mikey to see that one eyebrow raised just a touch, questioningly looking at Gerard as he finished his speech. Mikey could tell something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.

After dinner, Frank walked in on the brothers speaking in low voices in the kitchen. The Ways didn’t seem to mind his presence, but they didn’t acknowledge it, either.

“So you’ve been feeling okay to drink?” Mikey was asking, looking at his brother critically.

Gerard shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. He was somewhere between tipsy and full-on drunk. Frank hated it. “Yeah, guess so.” He shrugged again, “I dunno.”

Mikey sighed, “I told you to stop acting like it was your fault, fuckhead.” He glanced over to Frank and seemed to only then take notice of him.

“You should be getting home, Mikes. It’s late. You sure you can drive yoursel--”

“I can get home fine, G. Thanks for the welcome home dinner.” Mikey started to leave the kitchen, an irritated aura around him and Frank wondered what the brothers had been talking about before he entered the room.

Before Mikey could get too far, though, Gerard stopped him, grabbing one skinny wrist and pulling him backwards, a bit clumsily. “Wait, Mikes. Give me a hug. I love you, dude.”

The brothers hugged, and Frank didn’t like how final it looked. How Gerard held on too long, even after Mikey started trying to pry him off. He didn’t like the way Gerard closed his eyes and seemed to savor the feeling of his brother, as if he’d never get to hug him again.

He wanted to remind Gerard, right in front of Mikey, that he wasn’t leaving the gang. But he couldn’t get himself to move a muscle.

Eventually, Mikey was released from Gerard’s hold and then it was only the two of them left in the kitchen, only the two of them left in that entire house.

“Hey.” Gerard muttered, before sauntering up to Frank and kissing him against the kitchen counter. Frank wrapped his arms around Gerard and held him tight like Gerard had done to Mikey. He didn’t want to let go because then Gerard might try to leave.

Just like Mikey had done, Gerard began to push at Frank gently, to try to get him off. “Mmm-Frank” He tried talking against Frank’s lips. They were both out of breath when Frank finally relaxed a little, letting his grip loosen and pulling his face back so that he could really look at Gerard.

“I have a mission for you.”

Frank blinked. “Just for me?” Gerard nodded. Frank shook his head, “I’m not gonna help you leave.”

“No no no--” Gerard assured Frank, “This has nothing to do with that. This is just a… personal revenge kind of thing, I guess.” Gerard was bad at lying when he was drunk.

He took Frank’s silence as a sign that he was willing to carry out a mission. “I need you to take care of someone for me. Tomorrow.” One of Gerard’s hands snaked down to his back pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper with a few scribbles on it in his own handwriting. “Here’s his name, his office, the time of your appointment with him, and the alias you’ll need to go by.”

Frank blinked, “My appointment with him?”

Gerard nodded. “Convince him to go out to lunch with you. Then pull him into an alleyway on the way there or something. I don’t care how you do it. But make sure he’s in once piece and there’s no evidence left behind. And wear something you won’t be recognized in. Something professional. Make sure to cover up all of your tattoos.”

Frank soaked up all of Gerard’s instructions, nodding along, only slightly distracted by their proximity and by the light smell of alcohol on Gerard’s breath.

“Where do you want me to dump him?” The question came automatically, an old question he used to ask a lot when he’d been somewhere between low- and high-ranking in the gang. The middle-ranking members were usually the ones sent on small solo missions like this because they had enough experience to not do something totally idiotic but they were also more disposable if something did go wrong. Frank wondered what was so special about this case that Gerard needed his right-hand man on the job.

“Don’t dump him. I want you to bring the body here, to me, and I want you to be here by five PM sharp.”

Frank frowned, “Damn. What did this guy do to you? What are you gonna do to him?” He chuckled, “Besides kill him, I mean.”

Gerard shook his head, though, trying to keep a smile off of his face. He was staring at Frank’s lips, beginning to close in on them. “Don’t ask questions of your leader, Frank. Just do as I say.”

William Reed was a timid man. Frank wasn’t quite sure upon meeting him how he’d managed to become the CEO of a small but successful company with that quiet, gentle voice of his. Frank didn’t spend too much time pondering this, though, because he had a job to do.

It was easy to convince Mr. Reed that their meeting would be much more enjoyable at a restaurant just down the block from his office building. It was easy, once out on the sidewalk, for Frank to find a secluded alley way, and to convince Reed that he knew a shortcut.

Reed seemed to become more nervous the longer he was with Frank. He seemed to realize that something was amiss. But his timid, uncertain nature kept him from speaking up and in the end, he died without much of a fight.

One of the only difficulties of the mission was getting the poor guy’s body to the house. Frank managed, however, and was pulling up just over an hour later with a dead body in his trunk. He felt sick. He’d felt sick since the moment he walked into that man’s office, since he laid eyes on Reed.

Gerard really had been lying the night before. This mission had everything to do with him leaving the gang.

William Reed was average height and had a little bit of extra cushion around his sides. He had medium-length black hair that was worn slicked back while he was at the office but could be pushed forward and worn more messily in a casual setting. He was pale with a round face almost the exact shape as Gerard’s.

Frank sighed when he spotted Gerard coming down the front path of the house, face drawn tight, in all-business mode. Frank didn’t move from his driver’s seat, just cut the engine off and waited for Gerard to crouch down next to his window.

“Got ‘im?”

Frank nodded, “Yeah. I got him.”

“Thanks, Frankie.” Gerard’s voice turned soft and a gentle hand appeared on Frank’s left wrist, which was still hanging on the steering wheel. Gerard pulled Frank’s hand up and intertwined their fingers.

“Gerard--”

“There’s still one more thing I need you to do.”

“Gerard, I’m not doing anything more to help you leave. You already tricked me into going this far. I’m done.” Frank couldn’t look straight at Gerard, couldn’t look into those hazel eyes because he didn’t want it to be the last time.

But Gerard wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t move, until Frank finally gave in and turned his head just a fraction so that he could side-eye Gerard.

“It’s either I get out with your help, unscathed, or I get out like Dewees did. You can choose.” There was a dark tone to his voice, but there was a softness in his eyes. “You can still come with me, you know. We might have to work a few more details out, but the offer still stands.”

Frank shook his head. Gerard’s hand tightened around Frank’s.

“Anyway, I… I just need you to promise you’ll look after Mikey.” Gerard leaned his head down through the window so that it was closer to Frank, resting his forearms on the frame and leaving Frank’s left arm at an awkward angle. Frank squeezed his fingers a bit harder.

For a second, Frank thought that maybe, if he didn’t promise to take care of Mikey, Gerard would have to stay because there would be no one looking after his little brother. But he also hadn’t stopped thinking about Gerard’s words from earlier, when he said that it was either Frank helped him, or he ended up like Dewees. Frank felt sick again at the thought of Gerard facedown in a puddle of blood. He wished he could stop seeing that image.

“I’ll take care of him.”

Gerard seemed to smile softly, almost sadly, “Make sure he knows I love him.”

“Alright. He knows already. But alright.” Frank’s voice was rough all of the sudden, like he hadn’t used it all day, “I love you, G. Even if you’re about to do something really fucking dumb.”

This time, Gerard definitely smiled, really big and not as sad. “I love you too, Frankie.” He pressed a firm kiss to Frank’s cheek then, but before Frank could turn his head so that he could get another on the lips, Gerard’s hand had disappeared from Frank’s hand and Frank could see him in the rear view mirror pulling the body that looked just like his up out of the trunk.

The big house was lonely to live in all alone. After years of living in apartment after apartment, Frank had grown used to and maybe even fond of the noises of people living around him.

Frank hadn’t spent a week in the house before he invited Mikey to live in it with him. He thought it would be easier to fulfill his promise to Gerard that way, and the house was more than big enough for the two of them, anyway.

Mikey took Gerard’s ‘death’ pretty hard. He seemed more angry than anything, as if he thought Gerard apparently burning in a fire in his old home had been by Gerard’s choice. It had been, sort of, but Mikey wasn’t supposed to know that.

Only, Frank thought that Mikey had suspicions.

Mikey did have suspicions, and they were all confirmed one evening, when he sifted through the mail to find a postcard from California.

The house’s address was written in a familiar scrawl, and on the front was a picture of the Los Angeles skyline, with large, bold words printed overtop of it.

After staring at the card and holding it between his palms as if the sender would magically appeared if he wished hard enough, he went upstairs and slipped the piece of paper under Frank’s bedroom door.

_WISH YOU WERE HERE_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment telling me how you liked (or didn't like lmao) the story! Your comment doesn't even have to make sense I just love reading comments and I'm thirsty for attention!! Yay!


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